


Eternal Snowfall of The Spotless Mind

by ARandomRock



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: #galacticsantas2k19, A Blend of A3 Idolmaster and Bandori, Dancing, First Dates, First Kiss, Idol AU, M/M, Slow Romance, Threatre AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARandomRock/pseuds/ARandomRock
Summary: Secret Santa Gift for @asaameshin on twitter for #galacticsantas2k19In a threat re that houses everything from the loud rock performances of the Black Lancers to the classical Ballet of the Iserlohn trope. There exists a man who hovers behind the scenes who director Mecklinger proposes should be moved on stage. Neither a man of Passion like Reuenthal, nor Pure like the pop-trained idol of Wenli but also not Happy like Mittenmeyer. This is the story of how Reinhard, Mecklinger and the gang gave birth to the new type of show. The cool, blue cold winter play! Devising a plan of attack, each man seeks to control the soon to be crowned Phantom of the Opera!
Relationships: Paul von Oberstein/Oskar von Reuenthal/Yang Wenli, Reinhard von Lohengramm/Paul von Oberstein
Kudos: 1





	Eternal Snowfall of The Spotless Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!  
> I half butchered the plot of Phantom of the Oprea, I hope you don't mind. I play a lot of idol games on my phone too! I don't know how many you are familiar with but I have put in references from Black Star Threatre, to A3! to Bandori ro Idolsh7.  
> I just hope you enjoy and have a lovely holiday! Good luck in the new year!

For a man of enough artistic esteem the mere mention of his initials would tremble the hearts of critics, Ernest Mecklinger found that writing scripts for certain characters were a wall he could not climb. There are some people who were cool enough that their songs would freeze over themselves. One such man who was the most powerful of all these frozen opera is the target of our own little play within a theater company.

Mecklinger had sketched the portrait of this man multiple times, trying to pull together some sort of roll for him that was not using hsi eyes for controlled strobe lighting. Frankly, after the original audition and scouting, this normal to below tier filler would be used to fill the backing choir. Judgement was not passed however by the art director and songwriter, no, the troupe leader’s judgement was the purest thing here.on the stage and if he decreed someone touched his musical soul - then so be it.

And that was how Mecklinger sat drawing the man’s grey strands off hair framing face, wondering what kind of role he could give to the man. His interactions are a theater show to see in itself. The passion-riddled Bittenfield whipping wires with his own troupe about how there was no energy, so little that it drained on the Lancer band. Yet there was a change from some of those who walked between the directors classifications of people. A trope, of the cool heads. A trope for a solemn winter performance, spear headed by the coolest voice in the room. Did he really have enough people to design such a thing? The Isherlon dance troupe had some cool heads in their mix, including that skiving little improviser who would quickly toss the script out on opening night, There was potential in his sleeping eyes to bring over. Mecklinger sketched softly the baggy eyes, what could fit a man of ice and a man of coffee injected into his veins? Like water and oil there needed to binding force. Wolfgang’s swift feet and happy heart would glide across between the two and give some grace, flexibility to the other’s movements but a man with such guiding leading force would blow in an opposite gale. His partner in duets who is usually a binding agent between the backup dancers and the core actors would be a fitting answer but when the idea was pitched the response was deafening. Empathized with a flick of the fringe,.

_“To be supporting for him? I do not think you understand your own actors. I have performed on the coldest stages before and I do not wish to return the polar regions again. “_

To Mecklinger’s complete exhaustion, Reuenthal’s blues ribbons would flutter with every bitter word down his rant. The theater's leader however placed a warm hand on the exhausted director's back and In his ears he whispered something that popped up the director’s eyebrows. The declration with a finger on the page:

_“Lead me lead with those three.”_

Taking the pencil connected Mecklinger's days old sketches together and drew a small star in the middle. And so it was - A cool hearted man, a new type of performer, a man with different eyes becoming cool to hold back and the sleepy improviser who had still not answered a single text message in those days. A new type, a cool type for the winter performance, the word cool, cold kept going. How would Mecklinger and leader Reinhard bring together the feeling of the wild frost in winter? Was there even a story to tell? Reinhard himself had no idea but gleefully took a sense of pride in his new found troupe of misfits, even if trying to arrange a meeting with Yang Wen-li was becoming harder than even finding a song or costume.

Wenli did appear and his spark of imagination ended up causing a back and forth with Reinhard. Stories, songs, legends of women of the snow, cruel stepmothers abandoning their daughters in forest, or even golden chicken. The pair shared soft laughter with impressions of their other staff members while poor old Ernest Mecklinger who was indeed doing his earnest began to trickle through the end of fall. It fell to Reinhard then, one at a time to pull together his master opera plan. Code-named, _“Tilting the Hat.”_

Yang and Reinhard were the people to finally come with a presentable idea - and it came from an insult from Reuenthal - a dead corpse, an energy sucking vampire. There it was. A somber romantic play of a vampire dead phantom who would suck the life out of the stage and be reinvigorated with love and warmth. 

_**“No”** _

Both final pieces of puzzle draped in blue and grey answered when approached. Was the response form Reuenthal who refused to be a background pawn in a new, unproven actor’s role. Oberstein himself gave a non response, confirming or neither denying the plan. Mecklinger showed sketches of costumes a small storyboard of their idea, yet everything was responded to with clinical pulling apart of the details. Enough for Wenli to to pull fibers apart on his beret from scratching his head so much. His theory though on the issue was sound:

_Mercy shown in the audition combined with embarrassment of the acceptance of mercy._

To the four men sitting around the table, Pose with this theory and various sketches worked on the character of Oberstein. A vampire, a phantom, a type of demon perhaps. The main character would have to reflect him, but not be him, a comfortable pair of shoes that one would not find fresh. To wear, to wear. It was Reinhard himself who breathe life into the show. Mask. A mask. Combining Reuenthal’s insult, Yang’s theory, Reinhard’s tactics the title and the design was planned out. It was Reuenthal’s job to talk of the costume, Yang to talk of the dance and Reinhard to talk of taking Oberstein’s hand in the show. Ernest sent them each a page of a plan of attack, each set to opull together this small personal opera play to warm the hearts of the entire galaxy!

_**The Phantom of the Opera! The Cool winter show!** _

* * *

For Reuenthal, it all resided in the mask. Wolfgang suggested surprising it, Wolfgang then suggested in a drunken haze to let Orberstein design it himself so it will be dalmatian patterned. This idea, was not too far away from what the side actor ended up attempting. Silently observing Oberstein who was sitting in the theater watching intensely, the loud Black Lancer troupe practice away at their rattling stuck two-generations-ago-rock performance. One of the members popped from underneath a cloth at the climax of the song.At that moment, Reuenthal threw the bait line out to Oberstein just that, there was a more lenient response.

_“A novel idea”_

He bounced back but just how Reuenthal had a penchant for his wrapped cape that action should be made not with Oberstein's own but with the movement of the fabric. Choreography with movement away from the body but still controlled by it in small, delicate amounts. The melodramatic tongue of the visionary was only half-absorbed by Reuenthal who was much more traditional in learning his partner’s gale-steps in time.

_“A phantom, the supernatural. An uneasy wind that trails the cloak and mask. Cloth that stirs without wind is unnerving to say the least.”_

The Black Lancers with their aggressive style always unnerved and seemed silly to Reuenthal, but just then a middle ground was reached. This man was not enjoying the show traditionally before everyone as most performers tended to do, Oberstein was pulling it apart and extracting elements from it. As Mecklinger once said to a curious Mittenmeyer about their costumes, pieces of other art resown together create something new. A vision was under that cold breath and was being woven. Reuenthal took a look away after Oberstein caught him staring, seeping into the chair, perhaps this performance, this cool and calm performance is where he needed to be. 

* * *

Yang’s approach to the dance was much more...refined than Reuenthal’s stolen harsh judgement. A small restaurant to which despite all the objections to by Oberstein, was bribed away with simple promise of a chess game on the side. Two plates either side of a tiny fold up chess board. The reveal of such had made Oberstein turn, but Yang’s simple unresponsive him leaving gave him pause for thought. Someone from such a different side of theater and use to the full popular idol life gave him a bit of interesting. He was calm, careful with his eyes and perhaps something vastly more interesting before watching another ring around the Rosenritter Construction Crew’s banging and yelling. The thing is, Yang had aid not a single word to Oberstein, this was further to him because this man simply could not play. Pawns racked up on his side of the board but his eyes supposedly never left the board. Even when either man ate cake there was harmony in each person’s movements. That was when just for a split second, Oberstein caught one of Yang’s eyes. The spoons, the spoons were mimicking each other.

_“Were you not taught to eat cake?”_

Said possibly with a vein of jest of serious, the break of Silence caused Yang to recoiled but not jerk, just softly relax.Scratched his head and moving a chess piece across the board gave a somber reply.

_“No, Nor chess either, But I know that neither manners or chess is merely what is on the plate along.”_

Oberstein took another piece and sipped at the tea before asking what the point of mimicking and learning was. Yang spoke strictly but in a soft enough manner that one outside the context would thing these were friends more than new coworkers. This grey haired man can sense movements, even subtly without even half looking at them as the phantom he can know exactly where his partner is, even when blinded that with Reinhard’s soft movements, dances with his golden hair there was no need for Oberstein to trip up himself, or feel there is a mistake to me made. A natural wind will pick up and glide the leaf to its destination. It was that metaphor that finally struck enough with Oberstein that the spoon was laid down and the game abandoned while his arms folded. The reason why Reinhard had pulled this together was being woven in front of him.

_“A leaf must break away from the tree first. I am not as crippled as an autumn leaf.”_

Yang recoiled finding this an interesting take on his very lacking people skills. These were not the angry managers and directors or poppus headed wannabes he was used too. Classical theater and idols had levels away from them, the ego was the same but this refinement was a much different challenge. This was Yang picking up Reinhard's needle of the weaving of this play, a fun deeper prick. 

_“That’s just the thing. You overthink the analogy into a negative. The phantom turns the mask into a negative. The leaf will not sustain life if it grips the tree forever. The stripped bare trees allow golden light through"_

Both men gave a simultaneous sigh, but Oberstein could not bring the energy to debate this man further. Waving his hand across his work in the theatre finally reaching the stage was appealing nonetheless, and if there a time where something would happen to Reinhard then it would fall onto his shoulders to take the theatre by the had so it did not rot. To do, he supposed that he had to trust in Reinhard’s judgement as he did before. That man’s golden tailwind 

_“You wasted your years in the popular music genre, young Wenli. Perhaps if you had classical refinement you’ve owned the theater you work for and perhaps some manners.”_

Yang merely rested back and sipped his coffee loudly. If he was sewing, he just picked his finger. The trickle of the metaphorical blood in my mind however, was sugar in his drink.

_“Be it classical or radio pop music, both deserve time and love into them. Both give people dreams, fantasties and entertainment, a common goal but different worlds. Uniting the two on common ground is not as far as you think.”_

Oberstein pulled back for a second but realized that sometimes, like the Black Lancer there was not much you say to sway them.This cake however, would have be eaten again some day in the future, an equal to share ideas, what stories could he learn? A book to be peeled apart and writhed in. Curious he pushed more, but Yang Wenli would not give him the bait.

* * *

Reinhard’s rehearsals with Oberstein were closed and private. Not for the sake of thew debutee but for the want of the leader. Not because he was coy about his attitude towards defending the existence of his cool and cold creature but because he wanted to bask in it. The stiffness of practicing moves, feeling every single time another muscle relax in his palm. He’d never had a partner that he could have so much control with, who would pull the stings and mold the way his hands would as they practiced the leans of the mask reveal scene. Reinhard would ruffle his hand through Oberstein’s hair who would simply take it with a furrow of the brow. This was his vision of the theater, hand-blossoming a flower who truly knew the art of keeping a face, an attitude a cool exterior to shock the audience at the final confessional. 

That is what, Reinhard would recall to the other actors in private. What he would conclude when writing practice notes at the end of the day. It’s what he would think about when humming the songs. No, he was drawn to Oberstein because of the flavor of cool, that new type of idol performer that would not raise hell for him ta a command or surround him with praise. No, he wanted it like his old partner who would scold him with a gentle smile to pull him back into line. Obertsein’s stiffness mean that the golden man had to rein back in every movement, a big swirl of the opera singer’s dress had to be reined in to allow his partner to move. The lean was in control of where Oberstein wanted to, when he wanted too. The angel of the opera was the one puppeteer the entire show and thinking that the opera singer was in charge, Reinhard was swept under his spell. When they practiced singing it was the deeper tones that would envelope Reinhard’s voice, but it was the higher one’s voice that shaped the lyrics. A cool shadow to balance the warm passion light. They were not fully succeeded the center stage to each other, nor were they controlling of each other. A perfect balance which eased both hearts with out either fully aware of it. 

And so there, as the snow fell outside the opera house, Oberstein, wrapped in thick layers of stain with small silver linings to match his rolling down it stood as the last assistants rattled through his face. Reuenthal looked at him, from the entrance to the dressing room, unsure whether it was okay for him to cross the boundary or not, but a gentle tab of the bottom of the brush on the counter was a bell enough. Pulling apart the box of the mask, Reuenthal stroked down Oberstein’s face with his hand, pining his bangs back a little to slip the ribbon straps underneath. The harshness of Oberstein’s breath every time the hands clipped the skin made the hands almost panic as he affixed the mask =. However the Phantom's hand hand stopped him.

_”It’d be easier if you tie it from the back”_

Obeying with some sort of resentment, affixed the last straps and pieces of Oberstein’s costume. Loud Wenli sips from the doorway where he had now taken residence muffled his laughter. It seemed that the man who Reuenthal called a vacuum of charisma was now also drawn into the orbit of the frozen planet. There was still nervousness about the whole ideal. This wasn’t pure idol territory where every dance is practiced until you can recite it in a coma. Any rehearsal with Reinhard were closed doors to anyone but the main two, dressed or not. Him and Reuenthal would place their ears on the door out of curiosity only for the Gale Wolf himself to drag both pups by the collar away.

By the time Reuenthal, Yang and Mittenmeyer had arrived at the balcony as a group, the hall was packed. Not a sell out, but enough that perhaps they wondered that this crowd would broke a nerve or two. Yang pointed out the journalist with a notepad on their lap, uncouth but this was eyes open for something different. The show was hosted in the South Theater and the spacious room would, on a good night be crawling with fine art critics, diplomats, and celebrities. Used for the big shows, never opening night first time shows around. The special treatment had made Reuenthal curse under his breath at the priority this new type of cool show was getting. Suits, tuxedos, and fancy dresses/little the halls still. 

The orchestra was perfect let by Fraulein Hilda herself, and the backup dancers cleared off as the lights became closed down. Reuenthal bit his lip a little as he watched as the dancers cleared away from Oberstein and Reinhard. Masked and flowing, Reinhard's color danced around the blacks and browns of Oberstein who responded with his deep cold voice. Their other arms were outstretched, hands clasping each other. Their duet where even the strings had silenced with drawn with white light. The entire theater of eyes could be pinned on Oberstein as he felt Reinhard's fingers slipped up through his hair to lift the strap while acting as though he was embracing him. The mask fell and hit the floor as climax of the song stuck.They made it through the first set without an issue. On the second set, however, Oberstein stumbled. Instead of taking a full step, he tried to take another half step, tripped and went backwards. But the cape flung up and so did the blonde hair, and outstretched hand. Oberstein felt the strain in one arm and a lurch in his stomach. He kept on moving backward, but she did not fall. The leader glanced down and saw that his partner's eye had rolled out in the jerk of the performance and now sat there staring at the audience, even though some of the orchestra stirred, they had never seen the full performance or rehearsal so struck with it. Reinhard sung his line and Oberstein rested, bent over in Reinhard's embrace and sealed a kiss between their lips, struck and down the golden hair formed a cage around Oberstein's face. The entire theater just saw a frozen frame pose at the climax of the show.

Reinhard's trap had caught it's pray and defrosted the inside. Not through force but through connection. The lesson of the Phantom of the Opera!


End file.
